Stay for Tea
by Sleeping Insomniac
Summary: Hong Kong notices a change in China and England when they're around each other. England/China


China doesn't worry too much about his clothes most of the time. He's perfectly happy putting on an old, comfortable shirt still warm from the dryer rather than wearing a trim, tailored one. Maybe that's why it's so fun to see him on holidays and special occasions; he always looks especially dressed up those days.

Lately, I've noticed that China dresses up on days that aren't in any way special. When I come downstairs in the morning, China is already up and showered, his hair free of its usual ponytail and shiny with some sort of product, his clothing made of fine and vibrantly colored silk. On these days, he always makes too much food for breakfast.

It didn't take me long to figure out a reason why China does these things.

I get up, shower, and dress. When I come downstairs, China starts cooking breakfast. It's unusual - my breakfast is always waiting for me on the table when I come downstairs - but it would be rude to say so. When China finishes cooking, I sit down, and, like clockwork, the doorbell rings. China insists that I stay and eat breakfast, even though, as a sign of respect, I should be the one running to answer the door.

England is on the door's other side, and China greets him. He replies with less enthusiasm and asks for me. I live at England's house some of the time and at China's house the rest of the time. Every time England comes to pick me up, China dresses up and makes breakfast late.

"We're just having breakfast," China always says, as if ten o'clock is normal breakfast time. "Would you like some? I cooked a bit too much."

China always cooks the right amount of food for the two of us, unless England is coming over. If China is making breakfast for England, I don't understand why he doesn't just say so.

England eats an early breakfast and was originally horrified that I was just eating at ten o'clock, but he's since adapted his eating schedule on days when he picks me up from China's house. I think he thinks that we have brunch on Sunday mornings, or, at least, he has trained himself to think this is the case.

So when China indirectly invites him in for the breakfast he cooked especially for him, England agrees with a sigh and comes inside, always sitting next to me and kissing the top of my head while I eat.

Once, China made a very traditional Chinese breakfast, his specialty. He invited England in and offered him the best part of everything - not that England knew that. China apologized for the food's "blandness," something I had never heard him say about his own cooking.

With one bite, though, I could tell that China had put his full effort into cooking this meal; it was delicious and completely flavorful. I knew that China was hoping for England to correct him and compliment his dish. I still don't know why China couldn't just ask England's opinion outright. It would have been better that way; if anyone cooks bland food, it's England, and, obviously startled at what China was labeling as "bland," he responded defensively that it "wasn't the _worst_ thing" China had ever made.

In England's way, I knew that it was some form of a compliment, an admittance of defeat. To China, it sounded as if England found his specialty dish every bit as bland as he'd lied and said it was. I could tell from the look on his face that he was crushed.

After that, China made me teach him how to cook a traditional English breakfast, supposedly because he was interested in foreign cuisine. We only have English breakfasts when England comes over.

China always pays attention to the things that England likes to eat; we always have sausages instead of bacon, pancakes instead of French toast, scrambled eggs, and plenty of potatoes. China makes his own marmalade spread to put out. We drink Earl Grey tea.

China is someone I've always seen as strong and independent. Besides his obvious martial arts knowledge, his endurance over thousands of years is truly something to admire. I hate it when England comes to pick me up, because China always falls apart, turning into this stranger whose every move is just to please England.

England doesn't even notice.

It's not as if England is a bad person who ignores China, or anything. When China bends over backwards like this, though, England takes it for granted. If China wants England's attention, he should act the way he does the rest of the time instead of melting into this meek little person.

Last week when he came to pick me up, England complained on the car ride home what he thought that China's breakfasts were about.

"I'm always over there for an hour, at least," he grumbled. "China and I have an agreement about your schedule."

"China isn't trying to get more time with me," I told him. England sighed. "Really, England, that's not it."

"Then what is?" England asked, sounding more tired than annoyed. "Every other week, I come to get you at ten o'clock on Sunday morning, and every other week at ten o'clock on Sunday morning, China is inexplicably running late. Why?" He sighed.

"He wants to see _you_, England," I said. England gave me a funny look. "You know that these days are the only ones at China's house when we have sausages and eggs for breakfast? Or Earl Grey for tea? These are the only days when China gets dressed up like that - except for holidays." I shouldn't have said all that about China, but I hoped that England would be better at handling the situation.

He didn't say anything, staring straight ahead at the road, a dark blush creeping up his neck.

We haven't talked about it since, but I come downstairs early one morning and overhear England on the phone.

"...Well, I'm going to be taking him out today. We'll probably be out until late...why don't I just drop him off at your house? ...Yeah...Yeah, no problem. All right...sure...Good bye."

England takes me out for a day in the city and tells me in the car that he'll be driving me back to China's house instead of having him pick me up. When I ask why, he says that this will be easier on China, and he's out driving today anyway. His neck gets all red like it did last week, and I know that he's lying. He wants to see if his going to China's house really makes any difference.

When we get to China's house that night, England tells me he'll only stay a minute, and I tell him that he'll be invited to a grand dinner. We make a bet. China answers the door, his hair in a loose ponytail, his clothes still far nicer than usual; I have half a mind to tell him that this casual look works better for him than his holiday dress-up on pick-up days.

"Oh, you're early!" China says, reaching out to hug me. "Dinner's almost ready, if you'd like to stay, England." He smiles. "It's a long drive back."

England's eyes flicker to me, but he agrees to stay. China beams and turns back to the house, and England grudgingly slips a few banknotes into my hand.

By the time we've followed China into the dining room, there is already a third place setting on the table, though I wonder if it had been put out to begin with. China is humming to himself and putting dishes out on the table. He waves at us as we come it and urges us to sit down. Both England and I offer to help, but China, of course, denies needing any and finishes bringing out dinner himself.

He offers the first - and best - helping to England, who takes it and studies his plate of traditional Chinese dinner while China fills my plate. China insists that we start as he helps himself. For a while, we eat in silence, then China asks about my week. I tell him about school, and he and England both listen intently, even though England has already heard this.

When I finish, China turns to England and they share that proud little parent smile that is simultaneously encouraging and embarrassing.

"How is it?" China asks, which surprises me; China never directly asks England anything. England is caught off guard just as much as I am.

"It's wonderful," he says, and I am doubly shocked. So is China. He stares at England for a moment before chuckling and looking down at his own plate.

"Don't be ridiculous, it's too salty," he says, but he's smiling and toying with his ponytail, and it's all too obvious that he's pleased. England chuckles and turns back to his own dinner.

Something is different. I can tell. I just don't know what exactly.

We have dinner - England awkwardly asks for seconds, which China lights up over - and dessert. We talk, and the conversation ends up being mostly between England and China, about the old days with their friends. I don't mind listening; I've never heard them tell these stories together, and it's the best I've ever heard them. England remembers what America said in that old story of China's about some apparently infamous New Year's party, and China remembers that the punchline to Russia's joke in one of England's memories is "What vodka?" - which doesn't make much sense and also doesn't make the joke very funny.

England stays longer than he ever has, and even though he's invested in the conversation, once he notices the time, he tries to excuse himself.

"I should go," he says.

"No, no, stay," China says. "We haven't even had tea yet."

We had tea with dinner and dessert, but China means the "cup of conversation" tea, as he calls it, to sip while talking for a long while. England glances over at me, and I smile, so he turns back to China and agrees.

"I'd like that," he says. "I'll stay for tea."


End file.
